The Island
by jjgonejello
Summary: A group of kids are mysteriously shoved on an island and changed into pokemon. Watch as they struggle to walk and use their moves, and maybe manage to find out how they got to the island. Very loosely based on Mystery Dungeon. Rating for language.
1. Prologue

**AN: I do not own Pokemon. I do, however, own Mr. Rocco, and all other human characters that will be introduced. The plot? Not completely my idea. It is a good mix of the Mystery Dungeon plot (also something I don't own), and various other ideas (some my own, some not). As I have not yet finished my Mystery Dungeon game, I cannot say whether or not the reasons for appearing on the island in my story will be the same as in the game.****  
Enjoy.  
**

There is a man that lives in our town by the name of Mr. Rocco. He is an old man – the oldest that has ever taken residence here. Some people don't like him, and are just waiting around for him to die. Some people are fascinated by him, and want to construct a monument in his name. And some people – well, some people just don't really give a shit one way or the other. I happen to fall into the latter category, or at least I did before one day last fall.

You see, I was what you call a 'troubled trainer.' I just didn't see pokemon the way other people did. I had never tried to build a bond with one or anything like that because, honestly, I thought it was pointless. Pokemon were dumb creatures, whose only point in life was to obey my command. They didn't think for themselves; they only thought about what I wanted, when I wanted it, and how they would get it for me. I used the pokemon I caught to do low-level crimes: vandalize a wall here, steal a loaf of bread there… Little things. And if they got caught? I'd let the police take them. It was no skin off my bones. After all, they were just dumb pokemon, and it wasn't like I was going to miss them.

One day I was doing my usual scope of the town, trying to see just what I was going to be stealing next, when I found myself in Mr. Rocco's yard. I knew both he and his pokemon were old, and I was eager to use the new rattata I had just caught. Little did I know that sometimes old people are less naïve than they look. Before that rattata could even get my prize back to me, the old man's prehistoric ninetails had us cornered, and the cops were on their way.

I managed to get myself out of spending the night in jail by making up a lie about seeing the rattata breaking into the house and trying to stop it from taking the item. Somehow the police believed the lie; however old man Rocco did not. He demanded I do some chores around the house for him to make up for the crime he was sure I committed, and the police agreed.

Mr. Rocco is a strange man to say the least, in both his actions and appearance. To me, he seems like a living skeleton; like something that crawled out of the earth not very long ago. He has wispy white hair and even whiter skin that folds across his face and body as if it's falling off his very bones. He doesn't seem to have a sense of smell, so the stench that comes from not showering for a week at a time radiates off of him like a vileplum's. He even drools a little.

Add this to the strange things he does – sleeping outside as much as he can; strange rituals involving his pokemon; bizarre diet of forest herbs – and you get a man that not a lot of people actually know a whole lot about. I had the privilege of learning about his life while working in his house, and I learned a lot of lessons through the stories he told me.

There is one story that I'll never forget. I had gone over to his house as usual to do the day's work, however when I got there he commanded me to sit and listen - there would be no work done today. He told me the reason there would be no work done was because it was storming outside, but whether or not that was the real reason is something that I'm not sure of to this day. He claims it to be a true story, but that's also something I'm unsure of. Either way, I certainly learned from it a lot about him, pokemon, and life.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Darkness… Darkness… Darkness…

Darkness was all he could see. It was all he could feel. It surrounded him, it calmed him, and he was okay with it.

Slowly, his ears started to pick up a sound. It wasn't a constant sound, but a sound that went in and out, rolling quickly to a climax before gently decrescendoing, and then repeating. At first it sounded like someone dumping a bucket of tiny beads or rocks onto a linoleum floor, but the more it repeated itself, the louder, but less distinct, it became.

It was the sound of an ocean, strong and choppy in the eye of a storm.

An ocean? Suddenly Rigby was very much awake. His eyes snapped open as the scent of rain and seawater engulfed his nose. He could feel his heart beginning to pound in his chest as adrenaline rushed through his body. He was sweating.

He wasn't supposed to be by an ocean! No no, that was _not_ right. No, he was supposed to be sleeping in a tent directly outside of Diglett Tunnel! So why in Arceus' name was he waking up beside an ocean?

As these thoughts half-hazardly flit through his mind, he became increasingly aware of his sense of touch. The sand rubbed up against his arms, back, and head like a bed of sand-paper; moisture hung in the air over him like a blanket; a cool wind blew in from the ocean, gently acting as an alarm clock. Quickly, he rolled over onto his stomach and gazed around him. It was awfully dark thanks to the storm clouds drifting through the sky, although a little circle-shaped patch of clear blue shown through. Directly to his left was the ocean, even louder now that his attention as focused on it, and greyer than a duskull. Turning his head to his right, Rigby noticed that the cold white beach led up to a thick forest. The trees were taller than any he had seen before, and closer together. They seemed to be a different species, too, with strange triangle shaped leaves sprouting in clusters. Another glance at the darkening sky told him that he had better head there to seek shelter.

Determined not to completely loose his grip on things, he pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, and then stood up. His head felt a little heavy, but he figured he was just tired. Trying to walk, however, he tripped over his own feet, sending himself face-first back into the sand.

His muscles _must_ just be a little tired from… whatever event had taken him to the beach.

He tried once more. Pushing himself up to his hands and knees, and rubbing the sand from his face, he stood up. He felt a bit wobbly, but otherwise so far so good. He still couldn't walk though, and fell once more into the sand when he tried. Frustrated he looked down at his legs and was about to sarcastically ask them what the hell their problem was, when what he saw shocked him into stunned silence.

Dear Arceus, he was a bellsprout.

No wonder he couldn't walk! He had a head the size of a small melon propped up on a pencil-thin body. No matter which way he leaned, his head would drag him down. But that couldn't be right. There was no way on earth that he had been both teleported to some random beach _and_ transformed into a bellspout. It just wasn't possible! No, it was an illusion. Or a dream. Or magic. Either way, it was something, and it wasn't real!

Deciding he needed to see it to believe it, he began dragging himself with his arms towards the ocean (afterall, if he was going to have to relearn how to walk, he certainly wasn't going to attempt it on something as shifty as sand). After a few minutes, he finally made it to the waves. He watched as one slowly came in, and searched it for his reflection. As the water swished around him, it quickly became deep enough to provide a reflection, and Rigby almost passed out. It was, for sure, the reflection of a bellsprout looking back at him.

Slowly, and getting louder, a scream rose from Rigby's lips as he frantically pulled himself out of the ocean. He was a bellsprout. He was a human that had been transported to a beach… and then turned into a bellsprout. He no longer had a human's body. No, no, he was now a bellsprout. A bellsprout. That little grass thing. A pokemon. _ A bellsprout._

It took him a few minutes to realize rain had begun to lightly fall. Snapping out of his hysterical reverie for a moment, he remembered the storm that had seemed to be on hold over him when he had first woken up. Apparently the eye of the storm had past over him, and the worst was yet to come. Despite his current mindblock, he was still a trainer, and still had the instincts to match. He knew he needed to get out of the rain. Slowly but steadily, he stretched his body out of the fetal position he had locked himself in, and slid onto his stomach, climbing up the beach to the forest.

He wasn't aware that from the forest another pokemon was watching his every move.


End file.
